Christmas 2025. 

A special treat; spending time with my children, their family and all of us living together in one house for two whole days. 

A Vancouver Christmas.
Via New York.

For what better way to get into the Christmas spirit than to walk the streets of that spectacular city, all decked out for Christmas. The last time we visited New York was at Christmas 30 years ago. So many changes; tall thin, unbelievably high sky scrapers dwarfing the Empire State Building. The museum at Ground Zero; a very moving tribute to the many who lost their lives in 9/11. The leafy highline walk giving vistas from a raised viewpoint. 

All of these we visited. After breakfast we set ourselves up for the day with a game of table tennis and table football in the lobby of our hotel . OH ( my other half) won every time. I didn't mind. I was just glad to play the games of my youth before stepping out into the bracing cold of the city. Full thermals required, 

I carried a tiny Olympus camera in my pocket. This was not a photography trip. But if I had stayed longer, and been alone, I would have focused on the justaposition of trees and high rise buildings. Nature in the city. 

Black and white or colour?

A difficult choice. 

I enjoy both.

Last time we visited with children in tow. This time we were free to wander and walk, eat bagels and visit art galleries. 

I really wanted to see the Guggenheim, having been blown away by the Guggenheim in Bilbao in 2023. 

Suffice to say that I didn't take any photos of the New York Guggenheim. It was so much smaller and less spectacular than its Spanish contemporary. The art on show was political and didn't resonate with my festive mood. 

It was completed in 1959, 38 years before the Spanish version, so it seems unfair to compare the two. But I have. I can only say that I was not uplifted in the way I anticipated.

I had no expectations for MOMA, the museum of Modern Art in New York, and it far exceeded my expectations. OH was also greatly impressed, a rare happening in an art gallery. So many famous artists and a spacious, attractive layout. We spent a whole afternoon there soaking in the wonders.

I enjoyed exploring how other photographers had captured the city. Going in close to create abstracts with windows, or using intentional camera movement to accentuate the lights at night.

I fell in love with Matthew Wong's oil painting 'Unknown pleasures" 2019. It reminds me of everything that I hold dear. Nature, mountains and flowing water, or is it an undulating road? 

I was highly amused to find an exhibit of the very same brown paper bags that I used to make cyanotypes on during my residency at Vashon Island. My cyanotypes were rejected for the Vashon alumni exhibition this year, and not surprising, as they were rough and ready, made as an experiment.

If only I had left them unaldulterated as simple functional bags I might have made it into MOMA!

And yes, there were works by Monet, VanGogh and Rothko. Ansel Adams and Irving Penn. But I was also really taken with an image of olive trees in African heat by JoAnn Verburg. It has the feel of pages in a book, with the trees framed and hung as a quadriptych, set in soft African light. Expansive and calming. 

And having seen some art we returned to Central Park, to enjoy the festive atmosphere. An endless stream of horse and carriages and bicycle rickshaws decked for the holiday streamed past us. Santa hats and cheesy music blaring out. 

I rode on the carousel with parents and children. I will never be too old to enjoy a carousel ride. 

I was happy as Larry.

And then we flew to Vancouver for the real purpose of our journey. To see our children and to play games. To walk in the forest and shout at the pantomime villain. 

Family traditions are made of moments like these. 
I felt very lucky.

 Sometimes it is good to try new things. It helps to shake up the senses and break one out of creative dead ends.

I have lost my enthusiasm for making work about litter, thinking about litter, and picking up litter. My book 'What If ?' was not very well received when I showed a draft to an assessor at the Royal Photographic Society with a view to submitting it for the FRPS . The assessor preferred my previous books such as 'findings', Land of my Father', and 'forest'. All black and white. No wacky colours or manipulation. 

I was disappointed with the response.  Disheartened even.

​I later shared the same draft book with my artist colleagues at Rye Creative Centre. Unlike the assessor they were incredibly positive. They encouraged me to get it finished.

Who to believe? What to do?

I thought about this for a while, and then decided that the book should go ahead regardless of the assessment process. I need to get it out of my system, once and for all. 

I asked myself why achieving the FRPS matters. I think it boils down to a sense of pride.
It shouldn't matter. Either people like my work or they don't. Their feelings about it should not be affected by the letters after my name.

​For most of my life I have been gathering letters after my name. At some point I should realise that they don't make my life richer. I should stop competing with the world, and just be myself..........sometimes colourful. and sometimes dark and moody.

It is the learning and the richness that studying brings that matters, not the letters that follow.

So for now, I will get the book finished, and stop thinking about making work about litter. I will, of course, continue to pick litter up as I go on my daily travels, as I always do. 

I wish to get back to beauty and the landscape.

​Which brings me on to women photographers and camaraderie.

Two weekends ago, in a bid to break out of my rut, I signed up to a photo walk with the RPS Women in Photography group. A London photowalk, starting at the National Portrait Gallery. I didn't know any of the participants, but what a really warm and welcoming group they turned out to be. We spent most of the day together, stopping for foody treats along the way. The pastel del nata ( Portugese custard tarts) were particularly special. I had two.

​We walked together initially, looking for images as we strolled. Slow was the order. Relaxed was the pace. We chatted and explored Covent Garden and Somerset House.

I found myself drawn to a topic that has been in the back of my mind for a long time, ever since I took a selfie in a field of sunflowers some years ago in Trelex, Switzerland.

​Hair. 

The image above was an accidental capture whilst bending low in a field of sunflowers. To my eye it represents a freedom of spirit, and a lightness of being. I keep a copy of this photograph pinned up on the wall of my studio.

As a landscape photographer the topic of hair felt like a big side step. I rarely take portraits of strangers as I never feel that I will use them in any constructive way. 
But this was a day to be different, and the urge that I was barely aware of surfaced as we walked through the crowds.
 
So many beautiful women. So much well tended hair.

​In the low March sunshine it glowed and shone. I started following people from behind, capturing them when they stopped for a moment. Almost no faces, so no loss of privacy on their part.

I saw the hair as a landscape. Rivers and gardens. Colours and shapes. No litter. A therapeutic refresh.

I remembered capturing Japanese girls dressed in traditional costume for the autumn leaf celebrations.

Such attention to detail. My hair never gets that much attention.

The more I walked, the more I enjoyed the moments of capture.

I might even go back for some more.

I don't care that this isn't abstract landscape photography, or what poeple think about these images.

What I care about is the fact that I enjoyed making the images, and what they might mean going forward.

I would like to give a massive thanks to Gabrielle Motola for leading us so gently into the street, and to all the women from the RPS Women in Photography group for their company and camaraderie.